Clarity in a Glass House
by Apapazukamori
Summary: Conrad Weller and Ken Murata have more in common than anyone might suspect. BL content. Conrad/Murata.


**Clarity in a Glass House**

Activity at Blood Pledge Castle always seemed to double when the Maou was in residence. Though, with plans going forward for His Majesty's coming-of-age ceremony and birthday celebration, as well as the country's first ever baseball season about to start, the amount of hustle and bustle had tripled. Conrad Weller had learned long ago that his mother's maid staff was a formidable group of ladies, and to stay far, far out of their way when deadlines loomed. When Yuuri was away from the castle, Conrad managed this by taking troops of new academy graduates on training exercises on the outskirts of the kingdom. However, with Yuuri so recently returned an absence everyone had thought permanent, Conrad neither could nor wanted to be so far away. He made do with escorting the boy wherever he chose to go, maids or no maids. This evening, however, Gnter and Gwendal had commandeered his charge once dinner had finished; they whisked him away for what threatened to be a long night of paperwork and lessons. Conrad had been asked to escort the kingdom's other double-black teenager to the quarters that had been prepared.

Conrad slowed his pace to match the Sage's as they walked down the corridors, glancing at him every so often out of the corner of his eye. He'd been doing so and more since Yuuri and Murata had arrived; whatever disquiet the Sage was feeling had to be nearly overwhelming if he was so unable to keep it hidden. At least, from the more watchful members of the Maou's household. Conrad and Yozak had noticed at roughly the same time, but Conrad had simply shrugged when Yozak had mentioned it. He had his suspicions, but at the moment, speculation bordering on gossip seemed in pretty bad taste.

_"Someone ain't that happy to be here."_

_Conrad raised an eyebrow. "Would you be?"_

Nodding to the guards posted at the hallway intersection, Conrad gestured for Murata to turn right. "Have you stayed in this section of the castle before, Your Highness?"

Murata glanced up at him, dark eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly before a smile scrunched them up a half second later. "Not that I remember, Sir Weller," he replied cheerfully as he glanced around. "But when you get down to it, all the corridors wind up looking the same after a while." He made a show of rubbing his chin; the light of a passing torch caught his glasses, obscuring his eyes. "However, I think we're near the kitchens. Lucky!"

After it was confirmed Yuuri now had the power to move between worlds with the Sage's help, Gnter had proposed allocating rooms in the castle for the Sage. It only made sense, with half the Shrine of the Original King only partially rebuilt, to have him installed in the castle on a temporary-to-permanent basis.

_"I don't want him near Yuuri," Wolfram said firmly, the relative self-control in tone cutting into any argument that the prince was acting out of pique. From his position against the wall, Conrad watched as Gnter and Cecilie exchanged an uncomfortable glance._

_"Wolfram," Gnter began, "there are certain protocols we have to follow, his rank alone would let him--"_

_A slight tremor made its way through Wolfram's body as he sat up straighter and unfolded his arms. He seemed to be trying very, very hard to control himself. Despite the seriousness of the discussion, Conrad had to smile. "I don't care where you put him, he's shouldn't be **living** near my fiance! Is everybody's memory so damned short?!"_

In the end, they chose a "wait and see" attitude, which seemed more like "wait and watch". Conrad led Murata to the room at the end of the hall, holding the door open for him. "After you, Your Highness."

He received a perfectly fake smile in return. "Thank you," the youth replied as he stepped into the large room. Conrad stood in the doorway while Murata took in the surroundings. For all the space, the furnishings were sparse; a large bed with black draping, a small nightstand, a bureau and a writing desk that held no stationary; instead, a small array of toiletries sat on a tray on top of it. Murata picked up one small bottle and laughed softly. "Like a hotel, don't you think?" Conrad wondered which of the maids had made the gesture; Sangria, maybe. Or perhaps Yozak, during the room sweep.

The Sage set the bottle back down on the tray and clasped his hands behind his head. "Much bigger than my room at the Shrine," he said as he faced the huge window; since entering, Conrad had seen nothing but his back. "Makes me wonder why I don't come here more often."

Conrad took a step into the room, his boots all but silent on the thick carpet. "Would you like me to get the lights, Your Highness?"

Murata's arms lowered slowly as he approached the window. The combination of the moonlight and the darkened room gave him the appearance of a silhouette, a faceless ghost in the window. "No," he replied, and his voice sounded tired. "Thank you, Sir Weller, but I'll be fine."

The door closed softly behind him, and Conrad leaned against it for a moment, just continuing to observe. He doubted his presence went unnoticed; the boy wasn't called "the Great Sage" for nothing. But Conrad had taken to watching him more, these past few months. He would grudgingly admit that he had been as blindsided as everyone else -- Shouri Shibuya being the lone exception -- by Murata's actions during the final, harrowing days of the battle with Soushu. Like Yozak, and a few others, he'd believed he had gained at least a rudimentary understanding of Yuuri's enigmatic friend; even had grown to like him somewhat. Certainly more than he had when he'd first seen Murata and wondered what the strange, then-blond human-seeming boy was doing so close to his king. That he was there with Yozak and Wolfram and hadn't been killed yet lent him a few points, but Conrad refused to trust _anyone_ without his own investigation.

He had been taken in by the disarming smile and the knowledge and the seriousness of the information the young man had given them. They all had, and rarely thought to ask what the Sage wasn't telling them. Any attempt to had been deflected or been interrupted by a crisis or Yuuri's either unwitting or intentional attempts to spare his friend from interrogation.

And then had come a confidence Conrad had not expected. A piece of information intimate enough that only three, possibly four people in either world could know.

_"Could it be Your Highness was--?!"_

_"I'm the Moon. Thank you for looking after me during that time."_

Conrad had not known what to do with that piece of information, until he'd watched Murata push Yuuri into Soushu's waiting arms.

_"I'm sorry, Shibuya."_

_"Don't worry, I won't die."_

An apology before the fact, a tenuous reassurance, though neither were without meaning.

After a few moments, Murata turned halfway, fingertips touching the window. "Did you need me for something, Sir Weller?" Face half-hidden in shadow, tone carefully neutral, the Sage reminded him of an animal about to be cornered.

Conrad pushed away from the door, crossing the large room to stand by the window as well. "I just didn't think anyone had welcomed you back, Your Highness."

Murata turned back to face the window. "I hadn't noticed," he replied, one hand coming up in a dismissive wave.

"I did." Conrad clasped his hands behind his back as he looked out onto the town below the castle. Really, the view was about the only thing the room had to recommend it. "I was the only one."

A soft snort followed a brief pause. "Well, with us popping up right in front of you, it would've been hard for you not to." Out of the corner of his eye, Conrad saw the Sage make another wave of his hand. "I expect everyone else was preoccupied with Shibuya." A slight smile reflected in the glass. "It's very easy to have that happen."

Conrad's closed his eyes for a heartbeat, then shook his head slowly. "Your Highness is too good at hiding behind the sun," he said softly, and heard a quiet, sharp intake of breath. He glanced next to him to find the Sage looking down at the windowsill, hand splayed amid the lattice's shadows. "His forgiveness is the worst, though, isn't it?" Conrad leaned against the windowpane, right hand unconsciously rising to touch his left arm. "When he smiles and says it'll all be all right."

The dark-haired youth's head remained bowed, eyes shaded by both glasses and the hair that fell across them. He stood, very still, and quiet for several moments, until, "you can almost believe it, if he's saying it." The line of Murata's jaw tightened. "Even if you'd rather he not say anything at all."

On impulse, Conrad reached over and brushed some of the hair back from Murata's face. Yozak had told him about when he'd first met the boy who had surfaced in Caloria with Yuuri, the wide-eyed, innocent-seeming goofball who set off every warning bell the spy had. And then the revelation that the youth was the Great Sage, bearer of thousands of years worth of memories and -- though they had not known at the time -- an accomplice in a plan that would either save their world or end it. Yozak said Murata's title explained how someone Wolfram's age could seem so old. Looking at him now, Conrad saw a motley of ages and experiences mixing over the young face, all tied together by guilt and isolation he knew only too well. The hand on the sill had clenched into a fist, and Conrad was suddenly reminded of his younger brother's struggle to control his temper. _You want to talk, Your Highness... but they don't understand your feelings._

"I didn't want to come back," Murata grit out, then laughed harshly. "But he asked me to. Asked for my help."

_"Conrad, come back with us."_

Conrad stepped closer, hand trailing down to rest on Murata's back, just between the shoulder blades. Dark eyes snapped up at the touch, narrowed and scrutinizing. Looking for pity, maybe. Recrimination from the person closest to the friend whom they had both hurt so badly. Conrad knew he wouldn't find it, whatever else he saw in the soldier's face.

Conrad hadn't intended to kiss the Sage, but one moment Murata's chin lifted in defiance; the next, their lips brushed together gently, a mingling of breaths. Murata pulled back slightly, gaze still wary despite the way the tightness in his shoulders seemed to ease.

_"I'm the Moon."_

When their mouths met a second time, Murata didn't pull away. Conrad's calloused hand fit against the young man's cheek and jaw, and he could feel the faint flutter of a pulse under his fingers. His free hand slid to the small of Murata's back, pressing them closer. The Sage's mouth moved under Conrad's, slow and pliant as he returned the kiss. After a moment, Murata's hands rose to settle on his upper arms and the boy parted his lips with a sigh.

No matter how Gnter liked to ramble happily about the presence of "twin" double-blacks in the kingdom, Murata could not be mistaken -- intentionally or otherwise -- for Yuuri in most cases, and especially not when it came to this. The first brush of their tongues brought a soft sound out of Murata's throat, but the boy knew exactly how to respond; whether from memory or real-world experience in this form, it hardly mattered. Conrad felt a similar sound rise in himself, stropped only by a lifetime's worth of self-denial. Nevertheless, his hand splayed wider on the Sage's back and pressed their bodies flush together. Murata gasped and wriggled before he, too, caught himself. The rustle of their clothes rubbing together seemed loud in the room, But not as loud as the quick, panting breaths that came from the boy's lips as he pushed away.

Conrad caught his own breath more quietly, his mouth and tongue still tingling. Maybe even wanting. Murata braced himself against the window sill, gaze directed somewhere over Conrad's shoulder. Still away from the window. "Sir Weller," he began, gripping the edge of the window sill tightly. "I'm sure Shibuya's looking for you by now."

They both knew where the young king had been hauled off to earlier that evening. Conrad took a half step closer and watched the hand on the sill grip so hard the knuckles threatened to match the moon-bleached paint. Dark brows furrowed, then lifted, pulling together in a different sort of emotion, no less intense than the anger that preceded it. "On the contrary, Your Highness," Conrad murmured, closing that last half foot; Murata's eyes remained level with the brown uniform covering his chest, nose close enough for Conrad to feel his breaths against the cloth. "Yuuri would tell me he was not the only person worth taking care of."

Murata did look up at that, with the same searching suspicion he had reacted with earlier. His lips twisted. "Did Shibuya put you up to this?" A tremor ran just beneath the surface of the question and Conrad shook his head.

"No, Your Highness." He traced his thumb over the line of Murata's cheek, an unusually gentle gesture. "His Majesty isn't quite capable of that level of subtlety, yet."

Murata opened his mouth, then closed it before sighing, a wry sort of smile on his lips. "And Heaven help us when he is," he murmured, angling his head so his forehead barely brushed against Conrad's chest. The hand that had been so tightly holding onto the window sill loosened and touched the hem of Conrad's uniform jacket. "Would you 'take care' of Shibuya, like this?"

Conrad hesitated, just for a moment, then bent down, feeling the dark hair tickle his cheek as he touched his mouth to Murata's ear and felt a shiver beneath it. "You, Your Highness, are not Yuuri."

Murata laughed shakily, tilted his head to the side when Conrad slid the tip of his tongue behind his earlobe. "I'm not... am I," he breathed, then let out a hiss; Conrad soothed the nipped spot on his throat with a soft nuzzle of his lips. Carefully, he began to unclasp the Sage's heavy black jacket, mouth sliding over the smooth, warming skin of the boy's neck. The Sage was quiet, indicating approval or pleasure with soft sighs and gasps; the slightest hitch of his breath was all the encouragement Conrad needed. His hands pushed the jacket off the boy's shoulders and then slid easily up under the thin white shirt beneath. Murata's back arched sharply, almost feline in its curve as he touched the boy's bare skin. His head lolled backward, mouth slightly open in a barely audible groan. Conrad lowered his mouth to Murata's, catching the parted lips with his own, and dragged his fingertips gently up along the boy's ribcage. Murata mewled into his mouth, then flushed, as if aroused by his own reaction Conrad felt heat starting to build in his groin and pressed harder into the kiss, digging his nails faintly into Murata's sides.

One smallish hand, the one that had been holding the window sill so tightly, came up and curled tightly in the hair at the back of Conrad's neck, almost painfully, but the reaction more than made up for that. He hadn't thought to be attracted to the Sage, not before and certainly not now; but the boy had let him in. Close enough to share a secret, a plea for connection. Close enough to coax out a moan louder than the one before.

Far be it for him to ignore the implications.

The buttons to the white shirt came undone much more easily than the jacket clasps. A calloused thumb circled one of Murata's nipples, earning him a sharp hiss and an almost-unnoticed jerk of the boy's hips. Conrad's own wakening erection twitched in response. He pulled back from the kiss, breath coming out slightly heavier than he would like to admit over Murata's lips. Murata himself was panting. "Your Highness..."

"Please," Murata whispered, answering the unspoken question and Conrad idly wondered if the boy had, in any of his lives, ever been driven passion-blind. Like he had been, once.

He knew he would not be the one to do it. But his pride wasn't so fragile that he cared. He slid a knee expertly between Murata's legs and pressed hard as he caught the boy up in another kiss, swallowing a surprised moan and felt Murata mold his body tightly against his. The hand in his hair tightened further, then let go, joining the second that came up to wind around his shoulders. His cock protested the pace and lack of friction to satisfy himself as well, but Conrad moved slowly, diligently. He swallowed his own groan as he unfastened Murata's pants and felt the damp circle of fabric just below the waistband of the boy's underwear.

Murata fell back against the window pane, making it rattle softly, as he pulled away. Even with the glasses standing between the Sage's dark eyes and the rest of the world, Conrad could see how hazy they'd become. "Lotion... on the desk," he managed. "Four star hotel..."

Conrad picked the right bottle on the second try, returning to stand before the Sage who had not stopped watching him since speaking. "Your Highness, are you sure--?" As much as his body loathed the question, he reminded it he wasn't doing this for himself. The argument had not worked before, and really hadn't ever, but that never stopped him from using it.

"Don't ask me to repeat myself, Sir Weller," the Sage said softly, a dangerous undercurrent in the tone, though the look in the slightly unfocused eyes held such normal, common, longing, that Conrad's heart twisted. Murata gritted his teeth and looked away. "I'm not sure I can."

More surprised by the admission than the sentiment, Conrad smiled slightly and kissed Murata again; the boy opened his mouth without prompting, kissing back eagerly, as if some sort of permission had been granted, just this once, for him to _want_ something that had nothing to do with Yuuri, the Shinou, or any ancient mission. Conrad obliged, enjoying the Sage's lack of reserve almost as much as Murata himself. He swallowed the boy's sharp gasp when he began to rub small circles around that damp spot on Murata's boxers, lightly brushing against the tip of Murata's erection through the cloth. The Sage caught himself as he started to wriggle, not quite certain how to completely let go. Conrad chuckled into the kiss and chose not to point it out. He was not expecting any miracles tonight.

Murata pushed up from the windowsill and moaned softly as Conrad pulled his pants down over his hips and let them fall down along his thighs. Conrad pulled back from the kiss enough to slide his mouth up to the Sage's ear. "Turn around, Your Highness," he murmured and felt Murata shudder; his own pants were becoming uncomfortably tight. Even a week ago, he would not have ever thought to say those words all together.

Nor would he have expected to have them obeyed. Murata braced his hand against the window pane and the moonlight bathed his face, striking over the lenses of his glasses. After a moment, he pulled them off and set them aside, out of reach. Conrad met his eyes in the faint reflection in the window, holding the gaze as he rubbed one now-slick finger against Murata's entrance; watching as Murata tensed and forced himself to relax, breath coming out in a hiss.

He slid the first finger inside, his jaw tightened as the warmth and enveloped his finger; he would bet a lot more money than he had to lose that all of Murata's experience from here on in was limited to his memories. Conrad wondered what reminiscence was passing through his head now. He bent forward and slid his tongue behind Murata's ear. "Does it hurt, Your Highness?"

"It always does," Murata panted, eyes half lidded as they focused on the windowsill. "In the beginning."

Conrad made an agreeable noise and slid the second finger in to join the first. Murata's free hand clenched on the sill as a strangled sound pushed out of his throat. A second, louder sound of a similar sentiment followed as Conrad scissored his fingers, stretching the reluctant muscle. He rubbed his hand over Murata's lower back, slipping his hand up underneath the jacket and shirt to knead at the tension gathering there. After a moment Murata's harsh breathing eased, and the Sage gingerly rocked back, pushing the two fingers in more deeply. Conrad's breath caught in his throat and he let it out slowly as he rubbed one finger up against the spot within the Sage's body that would make the discomfort of preparation worth it. Murata's bracing arm buckled, letting him lean forward, bangs barely brushing the glass as he groaned softly. "Sir Weller..."

Conrad withdrew his fingers, sliding the wet and cooling skin up the cleft of the Sage's ass and letting them rest just on top of his tail bone. "Yes, Your Highness?" He felt a smile curl at the corners of his mouth as Murata groaned again, then laughed.

"I said before... I wasn't going to repeat myself..." Murata lifted his head and met Conrad's eyes once again in the window's reflection. Conrad licked his lips and unbuckled his trousers not unhurriedly. He had tried rather diligently until now to ignore the throb between his own legs, but even his own touch around his cock was enough to drive home how eager he was to be inside the Sage.

A generous handful of lotion coated his length and Conrad positioned himself with one hand, using the other to urge Murata to bend a little more. "I'll go slowly, Your Highness," he said quickly, trying to reassure the youth, whose body had begun to tense up again in anticipation.

"Do it fast," Murata said tightly. "Like ripping off a bandage. I'm not going to last long anyway..."

Conrad groaned and did as requested, sheathing himself into the Sage with a single, hard thrust. Murata cried out under his breath, fist knocking against the windowsill as he rode out the pain. Conrad braced his own hand against the window sill and pressed his chest against Murata's back, feeling the wild heartbeat and heaving lungs. A whimper pushed out of Murata's throat and Conrad began to move, rocking his hips up flush against the Sage's, feeling his skin start to feel too small for his frame. Murata gasped and shuddered, head bent as he tried to find Conrad's pace and match it, his mouth slack has his breaths became shallow, heated and fast.

Conrad straightened just enough to be able to snake his arm around and lift Murata's chin; Murata saw his own reflection and shuddered, quickly looking up and meeting Conrad's eyes as Conrad pushed him closer to the edge. No hiding. No shields. Conrad watched those dark eyes glaze over and widen as Murata came, sudden and quickly, just as predicted. And almost silently, save for a cracked sound as he tried to look away and found his chin held in place.

The boy's muscles rippled around him and Conrad quickened his pace, still holding the Sage's gaze. He groaned harshly as he climaxed, seed spilling into Murata's body; and by the way Murata's eyes widened, the boy knew it.

He allowed Murata to drop his head afters he leaned heavily against the Sage's back, both hands on the windowsill. He breathed in the smell of sweat and sex on Murata's skin, smiling slightly as the Sage chuckled.

Conrad withdrew slowly, and grabbed a towel off the nightstand tray and cleaned himself off. He handed a second hand towel to Murata after the boy turned around. They redressed in silence, though it seemed worlds different from before; calmer in some ways, though a different sort of tension settled in the dark room.

Murata tossed his towel on the floor by the table and raked both hands through his hair. As he settled back against the window -- leaning a little more carefully, Conrad noticed -- he glanced sideways out the window. The boy looked more attractive without the glasses, Conrad thought, rather unexpectedly. Of course, he supposed it was only natural, their disguises and masks served a goal higher than animal instincts, utility overruling petty behavior. "The moon is brighter than usual, tonight."

Conrad raised an eyebrow and followed the Sage's gaze. "Not so unusual, Your Highness." he replied. "Not when it's seen for itself."

A low chuckle followed his words. "Indeed."

"Welcome back, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Sir Weller."


End file.
